‘Their ability to harmonize together is stunning, their reedy voices coming together and pulling apart amid delicate fingerstyle guitar and concertina deployed in just intonation, which imparts a deeply resonant, almost glowing harmonic presence. It’s all quite subtle, and if you only listen to the way the voices of Cater and Rasten blend you might even miss it—but the full sonic spectrum is what distinguishes and, in certain ways, connects it to traditional practice… Although the album is pure balladry, unfolding with exquisite patience, each song contains nifty little flourishes or instrumental elements that set them apart, such as the slide guitar and wheezy bass harmonica on For the Ear That is No More, or the slow peal of trumpet on Death and the Lady, courtesy of Rasten’s partner in Pip and Oker, Torstein Lavik Larsen. (Peter Margasak, Nowhere Street).
‘All done with such grace and elegance, without a note wasted or any required. Wonderful… faultless and deeply considered’ (Glenn Kimpton, KLOF).

Three high English and Scottish ballads, and three original settings of European folk tales.
Matt gatefold cover; gloss spot varnish.
Check it out!

Calling all HJ massive: here is a terrific, vivifying guide to your record collection, and a political kick up the bum. Within ten minutes of engaging with this book, you’ll sprout a fresh pair of ears and a fifth lobe, or your money back.
This is a riveting, bracingly militant account of the racist British policing of Black Atlantic musical culture, from slavery days bang up to date. Extended sections consider the suppression of African drumming and dancing; calypso, and reggae sound systems; rap and drill.
The writing is deep, wide-ranging and richly erudite, but accessible and unstuffy. Compellingly, Lambros takes it all personally, and crucially his book blazes with love for a bunch of our favourite music: a long, diverse playlist in the back ricochets from Count Ossie and Salah Ragab through to A Tribe Called Quest and 24-Carat Black.
It joyously celebrates Black music as a reparative safe space, but also a key to getting to grips with the world; a contagion of ‘creole planetarity’, in the words of Paul Gilroy’s foreword, ‘capable of facilitating and intensifying political mobilisation, collective refusal and acting in concert. It can do this because it has promoted and amplified meaningful, relational life amidst a general haemorrhaging of meaning…’
‘The healing force of the universe,’ in Albert Ayler’s phrase. ‘My sanctuary… my life,’ as Gary Bartz put it. ‘Songs in the key of life.’

Very warmly recommended.

Another cracker of a book. Going on three hundred flyers, one per page; a handful in colour. Poignant loveliness from beginning to end. Click through for a couple more images.

‘Rhino Reserve, cut from analog tape.’

Fifty-six fearless forays deep into the consecrated crates.
ALC does what he does best, with Roc Marciano rocking the pulpit; Budgie wheels back to the UK scene, dazzlingly rallying Knucks, Novelist, JayaHadADream, Joe James, Ragz Originale, Natanya, Qendresa, and full crew.
The CD version is resplendently dressed like a Bible, with foil debossing, the full monty. The cassette artwork debuts Gospexploitation. Lovely stuff. Click through for more images.

End of days rations. Meekly wait and murmur not and ye shall miss it, and there shall be a gnashing of teeth.

One of the foundation stones of northern soul, courtesy of Sherlie Matthews and sisters Brenda and Patrice Holloway.

‘Hey, fellahs…The sisters are not going for that no more…’
Stone cold feminist funk classic from the Female Preacher. The JBs sound like they know there’s no turning back.

Stretching out in 1965, with John Gilmore, Joe Chambers and co, two extra percussionists, and two bassists on one track. Abstract, fierce, textured, compelling.

A thrilling, uncompromising blend of free jazz, funk, and blues.
JH is at his most intensely wake-the-dead and crying, on alto saxophone, with Baikida Carroll on trumpet, Phillip Wilson on danceable tuned drums, and Abdul Wadud playing a blinder on cello.

“So the great names, Johnny Coltrane and stuff like that? Most all of them were extraordinary blues players. This music is blues-driven. In terms of what has gone on before. Now where it goes from here — where it is going from here — may not be the same thing, ’cause it has to change, or it’ll die in my opinion. You know what I mean? The traditions keep on turning over! People keep looking rearward for the tradition. The tradition in this music is forward! Forward! Not what you did last week, but this week! You see what I’m saying? Now… that’s a hard road.”